The Masquerades of Spring Quotes

“But I am a keeper of the secret flame, a sayer of the three sacred oaths, and a man who carries a staff of power. Except when it clashed with that evening’s outfit.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“But no sybaritic pleasure, no drink, no food, no wide magnificent vista can top seeing yourself reflected the way you want to be reflected in your lover’s eyes.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“never let it be said that Augustus Berrycloth-Young shirked his duty as a keeper of the secret flame. Not that I have the faintest idea where the secret flame might possibly be, although I assume that’s because it is a secret.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“I may not be the greatest practitioner to have graced the playing fields of Casterbrook, I may have chosen to squander my talents on pranks and japes, and I, most definitely, am not in the weight class of Nightingale… But I am a keeper of the secret flame, a sayer of the three sacred oaths, and a man who carries a staff of power. Except when it clashed with that evening’s outfit. But, metaphorically speaking, I carry it with me wherever I go.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Nightingale’s suit, I was pleased to see, was a much more traditional shade of black and conventionally cut, although it was tailored very well and suited him perfectly. He was, as one wag back in London once said, dangerously handsome and frustratingly unattainable.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“But everybody’s genuinely pleased to see you. And for a rich, white Englishman, that’s a remarkable feat—don’t you think?”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“no matter how much vermouth you pour in bathtub gin, it tastes like bathtub gin.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“I suppose your friend Milly⁠—” “Molly.” “Your friend Molly will be pleased.” “I expect she will bake me a cake.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Are all these ladies midwives?” I asked. “Look closer,” said Amelia. “Tell me what you see.” I have to say that there are certain aspects of femininity that I admit to being less than familiar with—shall we say, the earthier, more family-orientated aspects? But even I could see that some of what I’d taken for stoutness was something else entirely. “I see,” I said. “Many of these ladies are…um, ah…with child.” “Well done, Gussie,” said Amelia. “They bring food, money, occasionally jewellery as a down payment on a safe delivery.” “Offerings,” I said. “But to whom?” “I suppose you could say the midwives,” said Amelia. “In a collective sort of way.” “Does it work?” Amelia shrugged. “Who knows?”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“As Amelia explained it to me, because the landlords knew that the coloured folk couldn’t get lodgings in the white neighbourhoods, they could charge more than twice the normal rent. Since coloured folk mostly got paid half of what a white worker got, people in Harlem were nearly always short on the rent. To bridge the gap, the good citizens of Harlem had taken to holding rent parties in which private homes were turned into temporary nightclubs, at 25 cents per guest. Cram enough people in, sell enough hooch and enough food and, even after expenses and paying the entertainment, you could clear a month’s rent, maybe two.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“I thought fae were not attached to their progeny,” I said. Certainly Monsieur Chastain of the beautiful hands had taught me that. The denizens of the demi-monde—particularly the fae—could be distinguished from civilised men by this very lack of filial loyalty. “I’m afraid a great deal of what we were taught at Casterbrook about the demi-monde and the wider world was wrong,” said Nightingale. “It is entirely possible that Maurelle might be attached to her child. If there is one.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“He’d jumped down, only to find her waiting for him. “Gave me a start,” said Nightingale, “I can tell you.” “And?” I asked. “She’s definitely a fae of some kind. Tall, slender, plenty of teeth.” “The same as your friend Molly?” “Similar,” said Nightingale. “A different tribe perhaps, or clan, or nation. We still don’t know how they organise themselves.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“What on earth is a faggot ball?” Confusingly, faggot, in case you don’t know, is a rude American word for homosexuals. So when that word is used, you shouldn’t expect a roaring fire or a tasty northern dumpling—or at least, not in the way you may be used to. “A type of fancy dress ball,” I said. “A sort of masquerade where people come as themselves.” And then tried to bite my tongue. “They masquerade as themselves?” asked Nightingale. “As they might want to dress up once in a while.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Beauregard?” I said. “Sir?” “You’re a man of the city,” I said. “To be completely accurate, sir, I was born and raised in New Orleans,” said Beauregard. “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.” “No reason why you should, sir.” “Decent place?” “New Orleans?” “Yes.” “A trifle hot and somewhat fraught on occasion,” said Beauregard.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“At one end were the High Fae, the gentry, who lived in castles, had banquets and placed unbreakable geasa on unsuspecting questing knights, who, if they ever existed, were now gone from the land. Less remarkable but more common were the Middle Fae—the brownies, wefkins, boggarts, falloys, ballyhoos and a dozen other types I’ve forgotten the names of. At the bottom of the pile came the goblins, of which there were a hundred types that nobody cared to learn the names of. “Unlike Berrycloth-Young here,” Monsieur Chastain had said, “the fae do not have to strain or work for their magic. It comes naturally to them. The High Fae are, of course, the most powerful. But one should never underestimate even the lowliest goblin. Can anyone tell me what goblins are famous for?” I cannot, but I remember Monsieur Chastain had magnificent hands. I also remember that Monsieur Chastain spoke of the “higher” fae possessing certain talents. One was enchantment—the ability to imbue physical objects with magical power—and a second was the ability to walk “the faerie roads”, allowing them to pass quickly from one location to another.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“If this frail was anything like Nightingale’s alarming scullery maid, then she was definitely what we in the magical trade call a “fae”. I was taught a long and complicated definition back at school, which I no longer remember, but the gist was that they were like men—or women, in this case—only different. And sometimes inherently magical.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Wait,” I said, having paused only to bash the pike of suspicion firmly with the mallet of certainty. “You’re not talking about that queer scullery maid at the Folly? The one with all the teeth?” “Her name,” said Nightingale slowly, “is Molly.” “You have me tussling with mobsters, ne’er-do-wells and sarcastic millionaires because of…” I was about to say “a scullery maid” again, but Nightingale’s face had taken on a dangerous stillness. “Of…of Molly?” “Yes,” said Nightingale. “Will that be a problem?” There was what the novelists are pleased to call a pregnant pause. “No, no,” I said. “I just needed it clarified.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Nightingale gave me the most peculiar smile, that seemed to mix determination, excitement and a sort of distant sadness. Which is, I think you’ll agree, a bally lot of work for a single expression to do. I can only manage my expressions to mean one thing at a time. But then, I suppose nobody has ever marked me out as a man of destiny.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“It was perhaps because the choir were hitting notes that would have caused a castrato’s eyes to water that I failed to notice that Nightingale had asked me a question until the Reverend Edwards laughed. “Sorry,” I said. “I was listening to the wrong thing.” Which only made Edwards laugh harder. “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands,” he said. And right on cue the choir behind him made such a hallelujah that I almost considered taking up religion again. Fortunately, we children of Albion are made of sterner stuff, so the feeling quickly passed.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“But in my book, even “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” is as ashes upon the tongue when compared to the way these coloured American choirs can sing. Only the Welsh could give them a run for their money, and only if they cheered up a bit first.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” she asked in a tone that suggested that she doubted both clauses in the sentence.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Nightingale contemplated the automobiles passing by. “I say,” he said. “Which one of these cars is a taxi?” “That beige one with the check pattern,” I said, and hailed it. “It would be easier if there were some consistency,” said Nightingale. “Perhaps they should paint them all a single colour.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“They do like their buildings tall here,” said Nightingale. “It’s the ground,” I said. “One of Lucien’s friends explained it to me once. The ground is very hard in Manhattan, which makes it easier to build these skyscrapers.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“The Folly, the slightly shopworn centre of magic in the British Empire, sits on the south side of a garden square not too dissimilar in size and character to Washington Square, although this being New York, the fountain here was bigger and there was a copy of the Arc de Triomphe sitting opposite the start of Fifth Avenue.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Hunched in a nearby doorway, he looked like a drowned mouse that had been left guarding the empty cheese store while his friends have all scurried off for an evening of port and Stilton. And he did not look happy at all.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“So I suppose it was inevitable that we would end up at Lucy’s diggings on Sugar Hill, where the well-heeled denizens of Harlem roosted. He rented a basement flat of what the Americans call a townhouse, the upper floors of which were occupied by a family of undertakers. Next door, Lucy has informed me, lives a celebrated physician who specialises in maternity care. Thus, as I believe I have mentioned before, from birth to death, a man may never need to set foot outside Harlem. “When a man is tired of Harlem,” quoth Lucy, “he is tired of life.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Summer in New York can get infernally hot. And during that season, the whole population migrates to the roofs of their apartments and, in the absence of proper balconies, their fire escapes. Sensible people, my expatriate friends assure me, depart for Cape Cod and other points upstate.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Well, it seemed like a rum thing, but we wizards have a code and never let it be said that Augustus Berrycloth-Young shirked his duty as a keeper of the secret flame. Not that I have the faintest idea where the secret flame might possibly be, although I assume that’s because it is a secret.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“It is in this spirit that I feel I should introduce Thomas Nightingale before we, figuratively, meet him on that fateful spring morning so that you, the reader, may have a better understanding of the plot, and in consequence have a heightened appreciation of the music. Otherwise the story might stray into those overlong digressions that are the bane of the modern novel. He was a tall cove with a chiselled jaw, blue eyes and brown hair that, while cut short at the sides, had a tendency towards unruly behaviour up top. That, and a smooth chin, meant that while he was a good four years older than I, he could, when the mood took him, look younger. He could appear as languid and as carefree as the next young blade. But I had it on good authority that he had dealt with some pretty dicey situations both at home and abroad. Looking at him taking his ease at my window seat and perusing my copy of the New York Herald Tribune, I knew trouble. Even when it was wearing a rather fine tweed travelling suit.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring

“Instead, I took another sip of the blessed dark fruit of the bean.”
― Ben Aaronovitch, The Masquerades of Spring